Floral nail in the coffin
The latest issue of Grazia has an article about how to crimp your hair. Honest to god. Magazines that I used to buy for a mindless guilty pleasure have already weirded me out for the past year because all of the fashion sections are pretty much lifted from Seventeen circa 1990, the first year I was allowed to subscribe (that troublesome Sex & Your Body column; my mother would have preferred I had neither): skintight minidresses, denim on denim, floral leggings. This one actually features Zubaz, but calls them “traveller trousers.” The Blossom hat and Clinique “Brick” lipstick can’t be far behind. I feel like my mom must have felt when I’d come out of the dressing room at Express age 14 (already won a battle just to get her in there; the loud French pop music gave her a headache) and she’d make a face and say, “Yick, I didn’t like it the first time around, in the ‘70s.” And I’d get so mad. Now I just think about my eye creams (I own three).